The sheets felt like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

Smooth as silk, but softer and warmer, almost begging her to envelop herself into them. She fell forward, burying herself into the purple blankets and brought her knees up until she was kneeling, face first, in downward dog position. She was quite aware she was in an embarrassing condition- half drunk, and half asleep.

“I love these covers,” she mumbled into the sheets.

They smelled good, too, like a mixture of his sweat, laundry detergent, and cologne. Sleepily, she swayed her butt back and forth in the air rhythmically, too tired to care.

From behind, he was tempted to reach out and smack her on her ass, covered only by the stretched scarlet boyshorts. Immediately he mentally reprimanded himself and averted his eyes in guilt. He couldn’t think of her in that way, especially in the drunken state she was in. Suddenly, she fell on her side and curled into a ball, ripping the sheets out and pulling them over her.

“Now I have to remake the bed,” he scowled.

“Sorry,” she slurred, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously.

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